


Day 357

by ggfj84



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: As a fighter and a leader, M/M, Prisoner Shiro (Voltron), Shendak if you squint, Slice of Life, a day in the life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 14:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20797835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ggfj84/pseuds/ggfj84
Summary: Written for Shirotember. A day in the life of Prisoner 117-9875 – fighter, leader, champion.Special thanks to JG for the prompt!





	Day 357

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JG](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=JG).

> JG's prompt: A story from Shiro's time in the Galra Empire with a side dish of Shendak.

**4:22 a.m.** Shiro wakes up when the prisoner in the cell next to him coughs ugly, raw hacks. When he’s alert enough to understand what’s happening, he knocks twice on the wall. It takes a few moments, but the unnamed prisoner Shiro has dubbed “Wiggles” knocks back. Good. Even though there’s nothing Shiro can do, he likes knowing that Wiggles made it to the next moment.

Too awake to go back to sleep, Shiro starts his work-out routine early. Push-ups, lunges, sit-ups, arm lifts—maybe he’ll do a second set before breakfast.

**6:17 a.m. **The journey from Shiro’s cell to the mess hall takes almost twenty-five minutes (twenty-four minutes, thirty-two seconds, to be exact – on the best day), but Shiro likes to take stock. Wiggles—a long, worm-like ferret creature—seems to be alright, though he’ll need some extra sustenance to keep his strength up. He looks atrocious with bags under his eyes and languid skin.

A short being called an Arusian has a fight today. He’ll need all the help he can get. Not to mention the Krellian has been giving away most of his food this week, so he’ll need an extra helping.

The slop isn’t as bad as some of the garrison’s food, though it isn’t gourmet by any means. But Shiro can stomach it enough to keep going, and that’s good enough for now.

The drones let the prisoners wander the mess hall. As Shiro heads to his usual seat, he finishes his check of the cell block. A lost arm, a lost leg. Two more prisoners haven’t returned from the arena, and their seats remain empty as the fellow prisoners pay respects.

At his table wait an Olkari, a Balmeran, two Mers, and the Krellian. Since they aren’t equipped with translators, they improvise. Pidgin Galran is necessary for communication, and it’s one of the first things Shiro picked up when he arrived. He’s close to mastering formal Galran, and he’s gathered an understanding of almost any language he needs.

A few quick words, a chin jerk, and a shoulder shrug, and their small gang breaks off, keeping only what they need and sharing with a few weaker beings. Shiro makes sure to give his half to the Krellian who protests but eventually gives in. He’s hungry and tired, more so without a full meal.

Shiro hopes it’ll help him—and everyone—return to the mess hall tonight.

**9:10 a.m. **Watching the battles in the arena is infinitely harder than fighting. While Shiro loathes the pain, the blood, the moment an opponent falls to the ground, he’d rather be there, being the one tortured than an unwilling observer.

As he sits in the stands between a Puigan and a Krellian, he watches the Arusian battle a Galran-Balmeran warrior. The tiny being has no chance, or so the Krellian says.

“Hm. I'll take that bet,” the Puigan mutters over Shiro’s head in Pidgin Galran.

“Yeah?” the Krellian snorts. “Winner gets dinner.”

“No. You can have my spot against the Commander tonight.”

"As if you're strong enough to battle the Commander again." The Krellian snorts. “You think the Arusian can win?”

“Win? Frex no. But survive?”

The Arusian falls down with a whiny little shout.

The Puigian cringes. “Maybe.”

_“Yes,”_ Shiro insists, first in Krellian, then Balmeran. “And he’s going to win.”

“Ah, so Myzax’s finally banged your head against the ground too many times, eh, Human?”

Shiro rolls his eyes as the Arusian reaches behind his back, springs to his feet, and levels the Galran-Balmeran with the hilt of his sword. The Galran-Balmera falls backwards and collapses on the ground, blood trickling from his forehead.

Shiro smirks up at the Krellian and Puigian. “So whose taking my spot against the Commander?”

Both remain suspiciously silent.

**12:34 p.m.** Shiro always thinks of Keith when allowed into the recess yard. Keith always lingered on the edge, afraid to engage and when he could, didn’t know how. Shiro enjoyed coaxing Keith onto the sparring mat and then letting the boy’s fists do the talking, which screamed as loudly as Keith ever could.

In the recess yard of the Galran cruiser, It's Shiro who lingers by the edges. Today, he does a few sets of sit-ups and push-ups, though sometimes he stays by the opening of the yard. A long window runs the length of the hall with a force field, revealing the lovely expense of space that Shiro could stare at for hours. And now he can do it all the time, and he still can't get enough.

When his biceps burn and his stomach aches, Shiro debates about stargazing again when he hears a muted cry. He lets out a sigh and turns and yup. A newcomer—a Ventar about two heads taller than Shiro with muscles to match—slams the Arusian warrior who won his fight earlier against the side wall.

Right. Picking on a wounded warrior to prove his strength. Shiro lets out a sigh, rolls his shoulders, and heads toward the Ventar. Clearing his throat, Shiro waits for the Ventar to turn and doesn’t even flinch when the large beast leans close to huff in his face.

_“Back away,_” Shiro says in the little Ventanese he’s learned and instinctively knows that the Krellian and Balmaran stand behind him.

Triple threat, the Galrans call them.

The Ventar huffs again, one more time in attempt to intimidate, and then storms away. Shiro lets out a tiny breath as the Arusian mutters his appreciation. He pats the Krellian and Balmaran on the shoulder as he passes, a demonstrative thank you, before going to stare at the stars.

The purple celestial beings, surrounded by a sea of inky black, remind Shiro of Keith.

**2:07 p.m.** Shiro drops half his lunch sludge onto the empty Ventar’s plate. When the shocked and obviously hungry newcomer looks up, Shiro leans over and mutters in broken Ventanese, _“We watch out for each other.”_

He gives the other half of his sludge to the Arusian.

**4:26 p.m.** The Ventar wins his first battle in the arena, but he stops before delivering a killing blow, instead simply knocking the poor Krellian out cold.

**6:41 p.m.** The commander of this vessel gives more liberties than others. He allows the prisoners time to socialize, to eat together, to fight together. And he joins them, in the evening to fight one of them in the recess hall.

When he enters the pen, the masses part, fearful that they may be selected as his sparring partner for the evening. Only one prisoner doesn't move. Shiro isn’t intimidated, not anymore. Commander Sendak proved himself a loyal solider to Empire Zarkon. He’s the highest-ranking commander in the empire. He’s conquered more planets than any other commander in the last ten thousand years. He’s ruthless, unforgiving, and vile. He is the epitome of all Shiro loathes.

And yet…

Every night, since he pushed a Balmaran out of the way to deflect Sendak’s blow himself, Shiro accepts the role of Sendak’s sparring partner. He's lost a few battles, stained the recess hall’s floors with his own blood, and worn bruises like badges for days.

So has Sendak.

And every time that Shiro loses, the Balmaran and Kellian lift him to his feet, dress his wounds, and keep vigil while he rests.

But it’s been months since he’s lost that poorly, and now when Sendak rushes toward him, Shiro runs to meet him. Their battles are graceful dances. They pull their punches sometimes, Shiro hates to admit, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t fight to win.

Sendak, in kind, hasn’t left him limping since Shiro fell awkwardly during one fight, though he continues to push Shiro to his limits. His muscles ache. Shiro sucks in quick breaths and grunts when he blocks a blow from Sendak’s arm. He rolls with it, pivots, and delivers his own crushing blow. When Sendak falls backwards, Shiro follows. He grabs Sendak’s own arm, straddles the commander’s waist, and presses the sharp, metal fingertip directly against Sendak’s neck.

“Yield,” Shiro hisses.

Sendak smiles, proud. “You’ve grown as a warrior, Takashi. It is time for you to join.”

Join the empire or join Sendak? Shiro wonders as he shifts, able to feel Sendak’s desire.

“You have great promise,” Sendak fills in Shiro’s silence. “You are destined for great things, and I can help you achieve them.”

At what cost? “You know my answer,” Shiro whispers, so only Sendak can hear.

“I know your answer tonight, but that may not be your answer tomorrow.”

“Nothing you can say can make me join the empire.”

“Hm. We shall see.”

The drones enter the recess hall, pointing their weapons at the unarmed prisoners, and Shiro disengages from Sendak. Whether it’s before or after he touches the commander’s heaving chest – well, that’s between them.

**8:57 p.m.** Shiro takes inventory. Everyone’s in the mess hall tonight. When the Ventar hovers by the table Shiro shares with the Balmaran and Krellian, Shiro motions for him to join them.

**10:06 p.m.** Wiggles doesn’t cough that night, but he knocks on the wall to say goodnight. Shiro knocks back, and he falls asleep dreaming of the sparkling void just outside his reach. 

_The End_


End file.
